


the yellow night

by kocuria



Series: the Winter drabbles [2]
Category: Captain America - All Media Types, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Canon Divergence - Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Headspace, M/M, Multiple Personalities, Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Sharing a Body, touch-aversion, Перевод на русский | Translation in Russian
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-29
Updated: 2020-06-29
Packaged: 2021-03-03 20:48:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,360
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24981832
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kocuria/pseuds/kocuria
Summary: There’s asnufflingand a feeling oflipson the back of his neck and a quiet murmur, then the person - the Captain, it has to be? - stills.What. The. Fuck.BUCKY?!Bucky’s a quiet ball of warmth in the back of their head. He’s not afraid, he’s…Winter shuffles through their shared vocabulary to figure it out.He’scontent, whatever that means. To Winter, it just looks warm and yellow.-Bucky and Winter came in from the cold. Winter issoconfused.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes & Winter, James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers, Steve Rogers & Winter
Series: the Winter drabbles [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1805338
Comments: 17
Kudos: 273





	the yellow night

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Русский available: [Солнечная ночь](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26585092) by [fandom Starbucks and Evanstan 2020 (fandom_Starbucks_and_Evanstan_2020)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/fandom_Starbucks_and_Evanstan_2020/pseuds/fandom%20Starbucks%20and%20Evanstan%202020), [Merianda](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Merianda/pseuds/Merianda)



> I am _not_ a fast writer.  
> I am _not_ the kind of person that writes every day.  
> I am the kind of person who _percolates_ words for _days. Weeks._  
>  Except when Winter clamors for attention, apparently?
> 
> (There's no nefarious reasons for Winter's reactions here, other than him being the product of the standard Winter Soldier trauma umbrella. I promise, he's just basically a cat.)
> 
> The author has no experience with Dissociative Identity Disorder whatsoever (way too much with other fun mental stuff though).  
> Shared headspace: **bold** for Winter.  
> You can find the series timeline [HERE!](https://kocuria.tumblr.com/post/637890812746891264/timeline-for-the-winter-drabbles-series)  
>   
> Find me on [Tumblr](https://kocuria.tumblr.com/) or [Twitter!](https://twitter.com/kocuria)  
> 

Winter surfaces the way he always does - instantly and completely lucid, no outright movement or change in breathing, assessing the situation.

It’s dark and quiet, and he’s restrained, lying on his side.

He shuffles quickly through their memories - an evening full of conversation, a lot of tears (why, isn’t this what Bucky wanted?), the Spiderling begrudgingly giving the Captain the okay to take them to his quarters…

Okay. Steve’s quarters. Okay. So, probably safe?

So why the restraints?

He tries to shift slightly and the restraint around his chest tightens. It’s warm and-

and-

and-

it’s 

an

arm

what the _fuck?!_

He stiffens, he can’t help it. There’s a line of heat at his back, a leg tucked between his, a muscular arm wrapped around his chest, hand splayed over his sternum possesively. Hot puffs of breath ruffle his hair. 

Thankfully, there’s clothing, soft sweatpants and T-shirts. He doesn’t even want to _think_ about coming in contact with that much _skin._

He shudders.

There’s a _snuffling_ and a feeling of _lips_ on the back of his neck and a quiet murmur, then the person restraining them - the Captain, it has to be? - stills.

What.

The.

Fuck.

**BUCKY?!**

Bucky’s a quiet ball of warmth in the back of their head. He’s not afraid, he’s…

Winter shuffles through their shared vocabulary to figure it out.

He’s _content,_ whatever that means. To Winter, it just looks warm and yellow. Kind of like basking in a sunspot.

**Bucky?**

Bucky just snuffles - not unlike the sound the Captain just made - and curls himself into a tighter ball. He doesn’t look… uncomfortable. It’s not a curling born of fear. He’s.

Content.

Winter cringes. _He_ is not _content_ at all. This is nothing like a sunspot. It’s _constricting_ and _too hot_ and _too much_ and-

He’s moving away before he even makes a conscious decision. He berates himself for it - it’s definitely not the best way to work a potentially dangerous situation - but he can’t help it. He has to get _out,_ that’s paramount here.

Will the Captain even let go? He’s strong enough to just keep them here indefinitely-

The Captain mumbles, then loosens his hold on them, rolling away. Winter sighs in relief and carefully slithers from under the covers. He looks around, his night vision improving by the second.

A bedroom. Tinted windows, a huge bed, an open door to what’s obviously an en-suite. One other door.

He tries that. It’s unlocked.

It’s only once he’s outside and tries to take a deep breath of fresh air - not warm and stuffy the way a room gets when people sleep in it - that he realizes he’s been hyperventilating.

What the fuck, body.

He forces the breathing to slow down, then slowly goes to explore their new surroundings. A few minutes later, he’s back at the bedroom door, scowling.

It’s a _floor_.

It’s a whole goddamn _floor_.

So many windows and doors and potential places for hostiles to hide and someone’s been obviously moving through the _vents_ what the hell _is_ this place?

“Come on, Bucky, I _know_ you know better-” he mutters to himself, then winces. _Talking out loud_ in unknown territory? Really, Winter?

“Can I be of assistance, Winter?”

He startles, then drops into a crouch in front of the bedroom door (wait, why are you defending this door, what even is this?) and curses Bucky for going to sleep without any weapons on them. There’s obviously someone _here-_

“Apologies for startling you, Winter. My name is JARVIS. I believe I’ve met the other personality, Bucky, last night?” the ceiling says.

Winter squints, then shuffles through the memory-pages.

An AI. Runs the whole building, including environmental controls. No physical body to fight, unless you want to start an altercation with the _ceiling_.

Threat level: very high.

_(“He’s a friend, Buck.”_

_“You’re friends with a- a computer.”_

_“Well, just wait and get to know him. He’s a riot.”)_

“Hello, JARVIS,” Winter says finally, dropping out of the crouch. He needs to talk his way out of this one. Problem is, he’s not that good at talking. He tries to figure out what to say - _to an AI, to a_ building _, what does one say to a_ **building?!** \- and draws a blank.

“Good morning, Winter. I’m very pleased to finally meet you. Bucky’s mentioned you were instrumental in his arrival here. I’ve reviewed the tapes of your first conversations with the Avengers, and determined you pose no threat to my inhabitants. Can I be of any assistance?”

“You- you’re pleased- you determined-” Winter stutters. “Yes. Yes, you can. Where do I find knives?”

“There’s an assortment in the kitchen. However, I believe you do not need to-”

“Thank you, JARVIS,” Winter cuts in.

The silence feels sympathetic, somehow.

“You’re welcome, Winter. If you need anything, please do not hesitate to ask,” the voice finally says. It does sound… unthreatening.

Well, as unthreatening as _a state-of-the-art sentient fucking building_ can be.

Fifteen minutes later he’s stationed on the sofa - great sightlines on both entries to the apartment, good job, Captain - armed with three knives and a hot chocolate. The kitchen is very well stocked, both in the way of weaponry and sweets.

Winter likes both of those things _very much._ His opinion of this place grows exponentially.

There’s a blanket folded on the arm of the sofa, soft and a nice shade of blue. The color makes him… warm inside, for some reason. The location is nowhere near secure enough to wrap himself in the blanket, constricting his movements - but resting his flesh hand on it and stroking it gently is almost as good.

Bucky’s still a ball of yellow contentment in the back of their head. Winter can see the door to the room the Captain’s sleeping in - that feels extremely important for some reason - _and_ the entry to the apartment _and_ the skyline of New York. Yes, this position is _optimal._

He focuses on Bucky. Ever since they got rid of the Soldier, Bucky’s been _dreaming_. Winter was first alarmed, then utterly confused by those- those small movies, complete with sensory information, playing in their head when they're finally exhausted enough to drop off for an hour or two.

Bucky assures him they're not a threat. Winter isn’t so sure. The dreams are always full of blood and screams and pain, and Bucky is even more tired afterwards. The dreams _impede_ them. They're obviously _not_ useful in any way.

Bucky insists they're _normal_. Winter can’t do anything about them, keep them away - he knows, he's _tried_. In the end, he just resigned himself to taking over every time they happen, when Bucky's too drained to even try to peek out of his safe corner.

There’s a… a fog in their head now, the way there always is when Bucky’s dreaming, but he doesn’t seem to be in distress. He’s still curled in a ball, but it’s the kind of ball that stray cats sharing Winter’s sunspots used to coil into. That yellow feeling is radiating from him, easy to detect even from a distance. Winter sneaks closer, curious.

There’s a movie playing, again, but this time it doesn’t seem to be a bad one. There’s a splash of cool water, pleasant on skin. More of that laughter-bubbling. A flash of a toothy smile and charcoal-stained fingers. And sun. So much sun.

Winter _understands_ sun. Winter _likes_ sun _very much._

He looks around, still on guard. The sky’s starting to turn pink, but the Captain doesn’t seem to be stirring yet. The chocolate is hot and deliciously sweet. The blanket is soft under his hand, the knives a comforting weight, and the sightlines are perfect.

He knows their training will kick in with a vengeance if there’s even a hint of a threat to be registered. The hypervigilance is a part of him, the part that lets him do his job - **protect** \- well.

It’s exhausting, though. Surely there’s no harm in just... indulging in the yellow glow emanating from Bucky? Just this once?

... maybe contacting the Captain _was_ a good choice after all. 

Even if the _touching_ situation needs to be addressed as soon as possible.

**Author's Note:**

> Let me know what you think! 🙃  
>   
>   
> 


End file.
